


L'assasymphonie

by luxwrites



Category: MOR - Fandom, Mozart l'Opera Rock
Genre: SO SAD, Salieri has feelings, Salieri's sad, and knows he's not one of the Greats, and so jealous, but mozart's nice, cause he's not a genius like mozart, he has self-esteem issues, ya know?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxwrites/pseuds/luxwrites
Summary: Salieri has feelings as he listens to Mozart's new piece.





	L'assasymphonie

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of sad so... be forewarned?

Salieri stared at Mozart. How dare this man waltz into his rehearsal room to produce such breathtaking beauty. Salieri was the court’s musician. Everyone was supposed to look up to him. To respect him. To keep their mouths shut when he spoke. 

Mozart ignored all of these. His boundless energy carried him through the space like some crazed animal, driven by insatiable hunger. Salieri could see that hunger lurking behind Mozart’s eyes when the younger man stared right back at him, unshaken by Salieri’s murderous stare.

“Salieri,” Mozart’s grin took up nearly the entire lower half of his face. “You have come to listen to my new opera, yes?” Mozart was bouncing on his heels. 

Salieri grimaced internally, trying to prepare himself for the onslaught of self-loathing. He’d been to enough rehearsals of Mozart’s new pieces that he knew by now that his talent was a speck of dust to Mozart’s sun. He suddenly found himself wanting to cry. To collapse on the ground and sob until tears dripped off his chin and he could taste the salt on his lips. 

Instead, Salieri sighed and nodded curtly, “Mozart.” He strode over to the only chair facing the plethora of musicians with instruments. “You may begin when you are ready.” 

It was always the same these days; both men knew the procedure. As usual, Mozart brought Salieri the score for the piece, Salieri’s hands grabbing at the pages desperately despite himself. Then Salieri would usually analyze the title of the piece, forcing himself to wait before delving into the music. Mozart would practically sprint to his position in front of the orchestra so that by the time Salieri had opened to the first page, the music would begin. 

This time, however, Salieri couldn’t seem to get past the title page. In curling, elegant script, Mozart had written “L’assasymphonie pour lui” Something about the title caught Salieri off-guard. Familiar somehow; resonating in Salieri’s bones. 

After several minutes—during which Salieri could feel Mozart gauging his reaction to the title—Salieri finally turned the page, feeling tears force their way to the surface. With the first note, Salieri knew two things at once. 

The first was that this was by far Mozart’s best piece. The instruments seemed alive on the pages. It was awe-inspiring. 

The second was that Mozart knew how much it hurt Salieri to hear these beautiful creations every few days. The flute told the story of Salieri’s rise through the court, simplistic, beautiful, and following all the rules. The piano told the story of Salieri’s power and respect, his dedication to the work. The deep bass instruments interrupted with the story of Mozart’s entrance into Salieri’s life, unintentionally mocking the lighter instruments. Salieri wanted to run away, curl up in his soft sheets and hide from the world until Mozart died or moved away. 

Salieri’s tears snuck up on him. But it wasn’t until the last few pages of the piece that he let them fall. Somehow, the young composer had combined the sounds of the flute and the piano and the deeper instruments into something epic. The sounds that had clashed together slowly matched rhythm and intensity, reverting to their original contrasting melodies, but enhancing each sound rather than distracting the ear with the original dissonance. 

When the piece came to an end on the note of a trembling flute, Salieri released a huge breath he’d been holding. He carefully wiped his cheeks from the tears. It would not do to walk about the castle with tear tracks down his face. Shaky hands, gently closed the small leaflet of music, and shaky legs slowly stood Salieri up from the chair. Mozart’s back was still to him. 

“Mozart,” Salieri’s voice was rough and he coughed once to cover it up, “my friend,” at this Mozart spun around, the surprise on his face as clear as a cloudless sky, “thank you.” 

A small smile of appreciation graced both men’s lips. Salieri handed Mozart the score, then silently turned and strode across the room, out the door, and down the hall. His mind wouldn’t quiet down for several more hours when he would finally fall asleep on his bed, fully clothed, eyes red and aching, and his pillow wet with tears.


End file.
